


Emotional Context

by The Sign of Tea (NoPlastic)



Series: Tumblr ficlets - Johnlockary [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Mary Lives, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 19:10:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11766468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoPlastic/pseuds/The%20Sign%20of%20Tea
Summary: Post-TST AU: Mary was badly injured but survived the shooting.





	Emotional Context

“I think I want to go back now.”

Sherlock nodded and put his hands on Mary’s wheelchair. It had been a lovely day, and he was glad he’d decided to visit her in the rehabilitation hospital. His feeling of guilt was still strong after the Norbury disaster, especially after John had told him Mary had nearly died, and that the doctors weren’t sure if she would ever be able to walk again. But Mary had been smiling when he arrived this morning, and it was a real smile, not just a mask or an effect of her medication. She looked exhausted, but more relaxed than ever - relieved almost, as if she was glad the things she’d feared for such a long time had eventually happened.

“I thought I was going to die,” she said again as Sherlock slowly pushed the wheelchair back down the corridor. He didn’t want to leave yet. He wanted to take her home.

They’d gone for a long walk and spent all day in the park, and they’d talked about everything: Sherlock’s guilt, Mary’s pain, and their feelings for John. When Sherlock talked about his love for John, he was never sure if it would be understood correctly. The words were so overused and could have so many different meanings. It all depended on the context, and he was afraid to be open and honest about it.

“I told you how much I liked you, Sherlock, remember?” Mary said now in the silence of the hallway, interrupting his thoughts. “Because I was pretty sure those were my last words.”

She sounded amused, but …

_Liked._ Past tense.

The sense of fear and guilt started to creep up Sherlock’s spine again.

“Yet here I am, not dead, and you know what, I still like you. Actually, I … I wanted to say …”

It was not like her to be hesitant, searching for words. Sherlock stopped walking as she paused and glanced up at him, suddenly serious.

“I love you, and so does John. Since I’m still alive, and we still have a future, I want you to know this. If all the revelations about my past didn’t make you hate me, if you don’t think I’m a monster after all that happened … There’s always a place for you in our lives. In our marriage. In our relationship.”

After a few blurry seconds in which his feelings drowned out everything else, Sherlock found himself standing in front of Mary, his hands placed on hers.

“How could you believe I thought you were …” His voice failed. He cleared his throat and started again. “Mary, we’ve all done bad things. If you’re a monster, I’m a monster, too. You know that.”

Mary’s expression was blank, but Sherlock knew her well enough to know that didn’t mean she was unaffected.

“I mean, I wanted to say that I …”

Now it was his turn to hesitate. He wanted to say _I love you,_ but he couldn’t, not now. He wasn’t ready for this.

“I want that place in your lives. Whatever happens, I want to be there.”

“That’s what I needed to hear,” she said.

For the fraction of a moment, a kiss seemed possible, anything seemed possible, but they let it pass. It wasn’t the right place, not the right time.

“I’m tired, Sherlock. Go home now.”

 

It was a long way back to Baker Street, so Sherlock had plenty of time to think, but he couldn’t concentrate. All those little emotions, too complicated. His mind kept shying away from them, focusing on deductions instead or getting lost in classical music, seeking the comfort of logic and routine.

At home, he got a text from John, asking about his day with Mary. Sherlock didn’t reply.

Eighteen minutes later, there was a knock on the door.

“I know what you talked about,” John said before even entering the flat.

For once, John’s face was impossible to read. At least for Sherlock, because feelings were clouding his judgement. For once, Sherlock didn’t know how to translate his thoughts into words.  
Actions would have to speak for him, but he had to get it right, so John couldn’t misunderstand. It was all about the context.  
He grabbed John by the collar and pulled him into a passionate kiss.

It was one-sided for an awkward and frightening second, but then John pushed him backwards into the flat, slammed the door shut, and Sherlock was the one being kissed.


End file.
